


Jesus, Princess (Bite Me)

by orphan_account



Series: Mirror!verse Fills [5]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Fisting, M/M, Minor Violence, Mirror Universe, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 21:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mirror!verse - quite graphic. </p><p>Another of iseult1124's tumblr prompts: What I would love to see is McCoy being the dominant party in the Mirror!McKirk relationship - and thus I wrote it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jesus, Princess (Bite Me)

“Jesus, princess.” Bones scoffs, a cruel twist to his lips. Jim’s just bit him. He hasn’t done that in a seriously long time. Bones’d thought he’d learnt his lesson. Evidently not. He backslaps Jim, it’s hard and the force of it nearly knocks the kid right off his knees.  His lip is already split from his escapades last weekend. Telling Bones no really isn’t an option – how the kid doesn’t understand that yet is completely beyond him.

Bones kisses his cheek. It’s still warm from the force of the slap. Jim scoffs.

“Behave, James.” Bones says. Jim sighs, then he nods.

Jim was Bones’ deal-sweetener; Pike’s little enticement to get the doctor into Starfleet. He was found battered to a pulp on the outskirts of bum-fuck, Iowa; the son of a sullied dead nobody of an officer and a whore mother who had abandoned the kid nearly as soon as he was out the womb. Pike practically begged for the doctor to enlist, he’d just painted the mother of all masterpieces with Clay Treadway’s blood, made a profit from Jocelyn’s organs on the commercial alien market – _apparently_ the human lung is quite the delicacy in Andoria. He was at the top of his game as a surgeon but also at the pinnacle of his creativity as an executioner. Driven by a new found motivation that Pike assured him would be put to fabulous use as a ‘Fleet CMO.

He’d have his commission in three years, CMO in eight.

The end point sounded great but he had no intention of going back to school. He’d graded his way out of high school at fifteen, murdered his way through his medical degree, he’d essentially been practicing medicine for ten years, he was not going to revert to being a student all over again.

A few nights after his first attempt to persuade Leo, Pike had brought Jim to the bar with him, cuffed, gagged, and practically naked. He’d bartered Jim’s body like a worthless catamite. Leo had seen the baby blues, the pillow-plush lips, the dart of a pink tongue nervously wetting said lips and he’d grinned the filthiest grin he knew how and signed on the dotted line.

He did his three years with Jim as his permanent bed warmer. He’d been difficult to keep a hold of at the start, never taught to respect authority, or fear it. Never taught to hold his tongue. He bit, he spat, he clawed, he pinched. For the first month the only way Bones could get Jim was holding him down by the nape of the neck and fucking him from behind. Jim thrashing and cursing all the way.

Jim must have realised the wriggling was only spurring Bones on.

Or maybe he just got sick of Bones’ scalpel-orientated punishments. Bones had cut reminders of discipline into Jim on a weekly basis at the start; it’s a rare indulgence now. A treat he allows himself on days where Jim's being especially trying. 

He wants to play with Jim tonight. See how far he can push him.

No knives.

No whips or chains or gags or flogs.

Just his fist.

Jim looks up at Bones with eyes that seem to say he knows what’s coming. But they’re defiant too, they’re telling Bones no instead of begging him to be merciful. To be quite honest it doesn’t matter either way because Jim doesn’t have a choice. Bones is going to make him scream.

“Why don’t you let your forehead get acquainted with the floor, hey, Jim-boy?” Bones says, turning away from the kid to grab a bottle of his medical-grade.

Bones has fisted Jim only once in their eight years together. The night of their victory over the _Narada_ , when Romulus was no longer a blip on the radar, the night Bones gutted Doctor Puri on deck six in front of the entire medical team, the night Pike make him CMO.

He almost tore Jim in half. But to watch Jim writhing and pleading and whimpering for _more_ and _no more_ and then _stop_ but finally _please_ , was the most beautiful thing Bones had ever seen.

And Bones has looked into the eyes of death.

Jim must remember that night too because his shoulders are tense and he’s worrying the edge of the rug he can reach with his right hand. Jim is stunning like this. Forehead pressed into the floor, neck and shoulder’s dipped, back arched, arse high, open, thighs spread. Bones almost moans at the sight of it. He’s _so_ glad Jim’s progressed further than the spreader-bar. Even if he’s still handy with his teeth at times. Bones sinks to his knees gracefully, settling close behind Jim.

“Oh, James.” Bones breathes, guiding his two hands along Jim’s milky-white ribcage. “Darlin’.” He coaxes, kissing Jim’s shoulder. Jim flinches at the endearment. It means pain usually.

And being fisted is _so_ going to hurt.

But Bones is going to make sure it’s in the most delicious way possible. The way premium whiskey burns the back of your throat when you start drinking it. That’s the lick of pain he wants Jim to feel. Exquisite and loaded with the perfect intensity.  

Bones draws himself up from the length of Jim’s body and settles back, legs bent under him. He’s fully clothed and will remain so until he sees fit. Just standard-issue black trousers and undershirt – sash and blue tunic discarded. He nonchalantly palms at Jim’s right cheek, thumb brushing the sensitive skin at the crease where arse meets thigh. Jim tries not to shiver and fails. When Bones chuckles Jim jerks his hips away from Bones’ touch.

Both of Bones’ huge hands shoot out and clamp down on Jim’s hips, pulling him back and pressing bruises into the pale skin, skin that hasn’t seen the Iowan sun in so very long. Bones keeps one hand gripping onto Jim while he flicks open the bottle cap with his thumb and only lets his hand fall from the younger man’s body when he has to pour lube onto the pads of his fingers. He spreads Jim’s cheeks with the thumb and forefinger of his dry hand, blowing lightly on Jim’s hole until he’s twitching and clenching. Bones wants Jim to be hyperaware of himself just as much as he’s currently trying to stay aware of Bones, cataloguing his every movement like the nervy, abused child he’s never quite been able to grow up from.

He circles a wet finger of the other hand around Jim’s hole. Jim has loosened up considerably over the years but even now, even once Bones has two fingers inside Jim he’s still tighter than the majority of ass Bones’ frequented over his life-time.  

Three fingers almost feel like too much. Jim can’t help the small keening sounds. Bones revels in the sensation of Jim’s body sucking in his fingers. Needing them like he needs Bones.

“Don’t, Bones, _please_.” Jim begs when Bones finally slides his pinkie in alongside the middle three fingers.

“James.” Bones warns, leaning forward to bite the swell of Jim’s arse, leaving a perfect circle of teeth-shaped indents. “Open up for me.” He says, taking the time to flex his four fingers, rubbing against Jim’s prostate. Jim mewls and presses back into Bones, because he can’t help himself. Because Bones has set Jim alight from the inside. Bones adds more lube. Jim gets braver then, when the slide of fingers is more fluid and the burn starts to subside slightly.

Jim lifts his forehead off of the floor when Bones slides his thumb into the mix.

Bones takes a moment to look down and catalogue the sight of Jim’s hole stretched around his wrist. Then he starts to twist his wrist. Jim shudders through a toe curling orgasm and slumps forward slightly. Bones rights them both and continues to rub his knuckles against Jim’s prostate, reaching his other hand around Jim’s hips to fondle his spent cock. Bones wants to get Jim hard once more before he takes himself out of his tight standard-issue trousers and comes in stripes across the kid’s back.

So he has to spend a lot of attention on making Jim forget he has a fist inside him.

Until Jim is hard again, because then the _only_ thing Bones wants Jim to be aware of is the fist inside him. Jim’s thighs are shaking, his abdominal muscles are quivering. Bones gives Jim’s dick a final tug before he’s undoing his own zipper and fisting his own erection.

“Please Bones.” Jim whimpers. “ _Please_. I can’t- I need-”

“I know darlin’.” Bones says before he moans. His come spurts all over Jim’s back. He rests his forehead on the cold but slightly-sweat sheened skin of Jim’s back. Then the doctor regains focus, wants to wrangle a second orgasm out of Jim, wants to feel Jim contract around his fist just once more. He angles just right to have Jim keening again, shaking his head and murmuring nonsense into the floor. “You’re a sight, princess.”

“Fuck you.” Jim hisses out through gritted teeth before Bones moves just right and he’s panting breathy little gasps and coming all over the hardwood floor, _again_.

Bones is careful when he pulls out, cloths Jim clean and binds his wrists to the headboard of the bed. Jim falls asleep pretty quickly, completely wrecked and still looking like that debauched concubine.

“Jesus, princess.” Bones huffs with a fond little smirk. He doesn’t think Jim will try biting him again anytime soon. _But_ , a man can live in hope. 


End file.
